


don't know wood from canvas

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Trade reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: It's not that Drake gets traded, and it's not who he gets traded for. Or maybe it's both of those things. Connor's not really sure, but heisreally mad.





	don't know wood from canvas

**Author's Note:**

> i got mad and then my hand slipped, and, well. here we are. all my love to ari who laughed at me but also did a speed round beta on this. <3
> 
> the title is a quote from "mutiny on the bounty." i... promise it almost makes sense.

"You," Connor starts. "You did what?"

"I got us a defenceman," Chiarelli replies, adjusting his glasses. "We need to strengthen our blue line if we're ever going to get anywhere, Connor, you know that. I saw a chance, and—"

"You, like, remember 2015, right," Connor cuts in. He doesn't reach for his shoulder blade consciously, but he doesn't stop rubbing at the scar there when he notices what he's doing, either. "You remember what he did."

"And I'm sure he's very sorry," Chiarelli says. "I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose."

Connor stares. "He literally told me he did it on purpose," he says. "He rubbed my face in it after I made sure everyone on the team knew better than to suggest he did it on purpose, because I figured nobody would actually try to do that kind of thing. And then he _said he did it._ "

Chiarelli shrugs. "I'm sure everyone has said things that weren't necessarily true in the heat of the moment. Even you, Connor. You know how gamesmanship works."

"I do," Connor says, nodding slightly. He waits until Chiarelli starts to smile before continuing. "But it sure fucking looks like you have no idea."

The smile freezes in place on Chiarelli's face. "You can't speak to me like that," he says, and the genial tone is gone from his voice.

"So trade me, then," Connor fires back, standing up. "And for what it's worth? I'm not welcoming that asshole to the team. I'm not talking to him. I'm not doing any team bonding shit with him, and I'm sure as fuck not going to have his back if we're ever out on the ice together."

"You're deliberately trying to sink this team?" Chiarelli asks as Connor turns to leave.

"No," Connor says, not looking back as he walks for the door. "That's your job, apparently."

-0-

Drake is...

Well. Connor could say that Drake isn't happy, but that's honestly not even coming close to the truth. Drake is the kind of angry that Connor thinks probably led to wars getting started, back when spears were a new kind of weapon and people rode elephants into battle or whatever. History was never Connor's strong suit.

"I'm not going," Drake says, and he sounds so firm and certain that Connor would believe him, except they both know how this works.

"You have to go," Connor says. "Or you don't get to play anymore."

"Yeah," Drake says, calm and cool and so, so angry underneath it all. "I'm aware of how trades work, Connor. I'm _not going_."

Connor's mouth opens, then closes again. He can feel his eyes go wider and wider as Drake sits there, expression not changing even though Connor's sure his own face is going on one hell of a journey. "You have to," he says again, but he can hear how uncertain his own voice sounds now.

"I've already been on the phone with my agent," Drake says. "If I refuse to report, there's a chance that the Hawks will try to get the trade cancelled. He might not be able to come up here if—"

"No," Connor cuts in, shaking his head vehemently. "You can't just do that! It's your _career!_ "

"He almost ended yours before it really got started," Drake replies, each word clear and clipped. "And then he told you he did it on purpose. I'll learn to be an insurance agent or something, Connor. He should not be allowed anywhere near you, and now he's going to be on your team? _Fuck_ that."

"You," Connor says, but he has no idea how to follow it up. It seems to be a new pattern for him, or maybe it's just a symptom of how today is going. "Drake."

Drake's whole demeanour softens. "Connor," he replies, just as quiet. "I know trades happen and hockey's a business, all that crap. If the trade was to anywhere else, for anyone else, I'd be packing my shit right now, but you have to draw a line in the sand somewhere, right? Maybe you're mine."

There's no real way to reply to that, not without thinking about it first, so Connor closes his mouth and nods, knowing it's probably jerky and awkward-looking. "Okay," he says, and he's not sure why this moment feels kind of fragile, but then again, everything feels kind of fragile right now. "Okay. Let me know if... whatever I can do, Drake, okay?"

"Don't badmouth me to the press," Drake quips, grinning when Connor splutters. "Keep me in the loop, as long as they let you. I'll figure the rest out as I go."

"Okay," Connor says again. It's not enough, nowhere near it, but it'll have to do for now.

-0-

Connor wasn't expecting most of the guys to be super enthusiastic about having Manning on the team, but the overall response is more than he was counting on, to say the least. Leon starts shadowing Connor around the rink at their Sunday afternoon practice, as if Manning is going to spring out of a corner and attack Connor with a hatchet; Jujhar tells Connor very seriously that he'll fight Manning during practice if anything happens. Looch pulls him aside to tell him the exact same thing, and Nuge quietly says that he'll deal with anything that needs to be communicated to Manning so Connor doesn't have to deal with him directly. It's honestly an incredible show of support, and Connor doesn't know how he's supposed to thank the guys, doesn't know how to convincingly tell Jujhar and Looch that he definitely doesn't want them to beat up a teammate. He sort of can't believe that he's in this position, but, well. Here he is.

Drake's bombshell drops early on Monday morning, and judging by the reactions in the team group chat, Connor is the only one who knew anything about it beforehand. Nursey puts a link in with a full three rows of question marks after it, and Connor watches as teammate after teammate comments, most of them with more question marks or actual questions for Drake.

Drake doesn't answer and doesn't answer and then removes himself from the group chat, and then Connor turns off his phone.

-0-

"Connor," Chiarelli says, and this time around he sounds stressed, panicky. It's not like Connor enjoys feeling like he's constantly at odds with team management, but at least he can revel in the fact that he for sure feels like he has the upper hand now. "I'm sure you've heard the news."

"Which news?" Connor asks calmly. Drake is sitting three feet away, pretending he's playing chel and ignoring Connor, but Connor's sure he's listening in. Connor debates putting the phone on speaker and just letting Drake hear whatever is about to happen, but there's every chance that Chiarelli is about to say some pretty awful things, and Drake doesn't need to hear any more of that than he's heard already. The media hasn't exactly been kind.

"You don't have to play dumb with me," Chiarelli says, almost snapping. "I know you and Caggiula are close, and there's no way you haven't heard by now."

"I'm going to need you to let me know exactly what you're talking about, though," Connor says, putting some steel into his voice. "Since, y'know, you've proven that _you_ sure as hell aren't on my side. I'm not giving you anything you don't specifically ask for at this point."

"Connor," Chiarelli sighs out. "You have to trust the process."

"You've run out of trust," Connor replies. "What do you want? Right now. Be specific."

There's a beat of silence, then another; Connor doesn't know if it's actually loaded silence, or if Chiarelli is just trying to regroup. "Did you put him up to this?" he asks after longer than Connor figured it would take.

Connor shifts on the sofa before replying, just to make Chiarelli sweat a little. "No."

"You're sure?" Chiarelli asks, and the shock has bled out of his voice, replaced by the panic that had been there at the start of the call.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah," Connor says, rolling his eyes. "Anything else?"

"No, that's," Chiarelli says. "That's all for now, I think."

"Okay," Connor says, not sure if he should hang up or if there's something else he's actually waiting for here. He waits for a second, then adds, "Then I'm gonna—"

"Manning will be here tomorrow," Chiarelli cuts in. "Just so you know."

"That's nice," Connor says, faking calm as hard as he can. "Unless you have anything important to tell me, though, I'm hanging up now."

There's a beat of silence, then another, and then Connor hears the call disconnect.

Drake leans over and elbows him. "Did he just hang up on you?"

"I think so," Connor says, staring at his phone. "I guess so I didn't hang up on him first or something."

"Wow," Drake mutters. "I wish I could say I was surprised, but..."

Connor sighs and lets his phone drop to his lap. "You've had it a lot worse," he says. It's not a question; he definitely doesn't have to ask.

"I have," Drake says, tone carefully neutral. "Not that I'm surprised, but my agent has pretty much confirmed that I won't play in the NHL again. We're looking at options abroad, maybe."

"I don't know if I'm supposed to say 'I told you so' or thank you again," Connor says, leaning against the back of the sofa. "Maybe both."

"I'd settle for both," Drake says. When Connor turns his head to look, Drake is already looking back at him, a little half-smile on his face. "And also, I definitely remember you telling me so the first time. You don't have to remind me, unless it would make you feel better."

"Manning is on his way here," Connor says. He knows it's kind of abrupt, but oh well. "Chiarelli said tomorrow."

Drake's expression darkens. "Guess it was too much to hope that everything would go my way."

"I mean, your protest has been noted," Connor says, tone dry. "There might be more articles about you out there now than there are about me."

"They went back and interviewed my first-grade teacher," Drake says, laughing. "I think they were hoping she'd say something about how I was always a little traitor at heart or whatever, but all she said was that I was a very sweet boy."

Connor laughs along with him. "Yeah, not much else she could say, probably," he agrees. They both avoid mentioning the other articles, the ones that call Drake everything under the sun. Or the _other_ other articles, the ones that wonder about Drake and about Connor, about what could make someone do what Drake did—if it was Drake, or if it was Connor, and what that says about both of them in either case.

Drake sighs. "I mean, I have a degree. Maybe I'll do something in sports science, or maybe I'll go back to school and figure something else out."

"It worked for Ference," Connor says, mind racing a little. "You could do it, I bet. Figure out what you want to do now, get another degree. It would probably be faster, since you wouldn't have to do the, like, biology requirements over again."

"I'll think about it," Drake says, and the easy calm is back, the quiet confidence he'd had when he told Connor what he was going to do. It hits Connor, sudden and sharp, that it's something he depends on, Drake's ability to keep his head in any situation. It's a calm he tries desperately to emulate, and something he's going to miss having around if and when Drake finds somewhere else to be.

It's not new, this feeling that he wants Drake around. The articles they're not talking about surface in his mind, uninvited and ignoring Connor's attempts to not think about them, and he finds himself asking the same question most of them are asking: what does it mean, this thing that Drake did?

-0-

The first practice with Manning is awful, strained and difficult in ways that hockey has never, ever been for Connor. Hitch doesn't try to make them interact, but that's really the only silver lining that Connor can find at this point. He's shoving his things into his bag, trying to figure out if there's a graceful way to make this exit or if he's just going to end up bolting, when someone sits in the stall beside him.

"Hey," Nuge says, smiling at Connor.

"Hey," Connor replies, smiling back on autopilot. There's something intrinsically calming about Nuge, something that makes him approachable and trustworthy and absolutely the first person you want in your corner no matter what. "How's it going?"

"Good, going well," Nuge says, nodding. "Lunch? Lunch."

He's also impossible to disagree with most of the time, Connor thinks wryly as he shrugs and nods.

They don't go far; there's a deli near the rink that a lot of the guys frequent, but Nuge must have said something to everyone when Connor wasn't paying attention, because they're the only ones in the dining room today. He tries not to think about what kind of conversation Nuge wants to have that he doesn't want anyone on the team to witness, and then he tries not to be nervous about everything that his mind supplies for him anyway.

"So," Nuge says when the waiter has taken their orders. "I wanted to get your take on... everything."

Connor raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his glass of water. "That's a little vague," he says, setting his glass down.

"Please don't bullshit me," Nuge says, arching an eyebrow in response. "I promise you don't have to. I'm not Chiarelli."

There's venom in his voice, and Connor is abruptly reminded that as much as this particular trade sucks for him, as uncomfortable and upset as he is, Nuge has had it worse. Yak had been all but run out of town; Hallsy and Ebs were shipped out, one after the other, and Nuge was left to deal with the pieces of the team left behind in the aftermath of each. 

"Sorry," Connor says quietly. "I'm... mad, I guess. Upset. Frustrated."

Nuge nods. "I get it," he says. His tone is more businesslike than sympathetic, but Connor knows that Nuge understands. "Look, I talked with a few of the other guys, and we sort of want to know if you have any ideas going forward. We're prepared to back whatever play you want to make, and we're all reasonably sure that most of the rest of the guys are, too."

Connor frowns. "What kind of ideas?"

"That's kind of my question here," Nuge says, grinning briefly. "We'll do whatever, man. We're all fed up with management, and we'll throw our weight in whatever direction you point. If you think it's best to keep our heads down and keep skating like everything is normal, we'll do it. If you want to make your voice heard, we'll all back you up." He hesitates. "And if you wanted to do something kind of crazy, we're open for discussion."

"Crazy," Connor echoes. "What do you mean by—"

"I'm not saying you should put a hit out on Chiarelli or anything," Nuge cuts in, clearly amused, and Connor wonders what his face is doing that would make Nuge almost laugh at him like this. "But if you were thinking about talking to upper management or ownership or something..."

"Oh," Connor says, sitting back a little. "I could... I could actually do that, couldn't I?"

"It's a risk," Nuge cautions. "You're you, so it's less of one than any of the rest of us doing it, but anyone can get in trouble." He grins again. "I mean, I don't have to tell _you_ about Gretzky."

Connor snorts. "You don't."

"And what Cags has already done might make it easier," Nuge goes on. "Players doing stuff rarely gets noticed by people at the ownership level, but I know for a fact that Katz is watching this whole thing super closely."

"You know that for a fact," Connor repeats slowly. "How?"

"That would be telling," Nuge says, voice light. "And I'm not here to pressure you into things one way or another, Davo, I'm really not. I just wanted to let you know that we're ready to do whatever you think is the best thing going forward, because we all know that you'll consider the team in whatever decision you make."

"I'm not, like, unbiased in this," Connor points out. "Pretty far from it, actually."

"But you're not going to make any decisions based just on the Manning thing, either," Nuge says. "I'm not asking you for an answer right now, man. If you want to talk it out, with me or with Cags or with anyone else, you can. In fact, you probably should. Figure out what end goal you think is best, and we can all help you work your way back from there, figure out what steps we need to take to make sure we get things accomplished. We'll figure it out, Davo."

Connor nods slowly, mind already flying in a million directions. He's in a unique enough position that he doesn't know where to look for guidance, but he also knows that Nuge has a point, and that any of the guys would be happy to help him figure it out. He doesn't need an answer; he just needs an idea, and the rest of the team will help figure out the details.

"Okay," he says, nodding as the waiter finally brings out their food. "I'll let you know."

-0-

"Huh," Drake says when Connor finishes telling him about the conversation.

"I mean," Nursey puts in. He's sprawled in the recliner in their living room, and there's a frown on his face. "What else did you think was gonna happen, man?"

"Maybe not mutiny?" Connor replies, throwing his hands up. "Not that I'm not here for a little mutiny, maybe, but..."

Drake laughs. He nudges Connor's thigh with his toes, and Connor notices how close they are, how close they've become on top of how close they've always been. Drake hasn't left Connor's apartment since they talked on Sunday, right after the trade, and Nursey hasn't said anything, but Connor's noticed him making a point of keeping his mouth shut, too. It's a discussion Connor really needs to have with himself before he has it with anyone else, but it's another thing he doesn't want to do without giving it some thought first.

"Lead your mutiny," Drake is saying, and he's still laughing, but it's the kind of laugh that makes Connor feel like he's in on the joke. "Power to the people!"

"Are you gonna major in political science or something?" Connor asks, amused almost despite himself. "History, maybe?"

"We'll see," Drake says, shrugging. "I'm not ruling anything out yet. Maybe I'll be a doctor."

"A lawyer," Connor suggests. "You can represent all of us when we mutiny."

"An agent," Nursey puts in. "Since mine might actually fire me if we do it."

"As if," Drake says, rolling his eyes. "If you guys are following what Davo's doing, nobody's gonna give you shit."

"You've, like, heard of Don Cherry, right," Nursey says, leaning forward a little. "Nick Kypreos? Brian Burke? How about our own dear buddy Ryan Rishaug?"

"Okay, media exception," Drake amends. "Your agents won't fire you over this, though. If mine kept me when I called him after the trade, then yours won't have an issue, either."

"Your agent might be getting a few phone calls," Nursey says. "Not that I'm not gonna mutiny, because I'm totally gonna mutiny, but I think it's gonna be a little more of a shitshow than you think."

"I might not choose mutiny," Connor protests. "Why does everyone just automatically assume I'm going with mutiny?"

Drake shrugs. "Because you're probably even more tired than the rest of the team is of losing due to things outside of your control?"

"He's not wrong," Nursey says when Connor doesn't respond. "And, buddy, I'm choosing whatever you're choosing. Nuge isn't wrong; almost everyone is gonna go whichever way you go. You probably won't even have to ask them to."

Connor sighs. "I just want to play hockey."

"We all know that," Nursey says, standing and stretching. "We'll make it happen."

Connor watches as Nursey heads out of the room. He turns and looks at Drake, who gives him a smile and a shrug as they hear Nursey's bedroom door close. Connor sighs again. "Any ideas on what I should do here?"

"Decide if you want to rock the boat or not," Drake says. "Nobody's going to blame you if you just keep going and hope for the best. That's probably what everyone's expecting."

"I don't want to just keep going," Connor says slowly. "Laying down and letting Chiarelli walk all over us like he has been sounds a lot like giving up."

"Then you mutiny," Drake says, smiling at him. "Take that however you want to, I guess, but if you don't want to keep going like nothing happened, then you pretty much have to force a change at this point."

Connor grins. "Sounds like politics might be your answer after all."

"Be nice to me, I could be your mayor someday," Drake replies with a laugh. "If something goes really right, or maybe really wrong, depending on who you ask."

"I mean, you will clearly do whatever it takes to stand for something you believe in," Connor says, mouth moving before he can think any better of it.

Drake laughs as he stands. "I guess I made my grand gesture," he says, voice light. "I think the ball's in your court, if that's a court you want to be in. Again, nobody's going to blame you if you don't want to rock the boat."

"I'm," Connor says, biting his lip. "I don't know. Is it okay if I don't know?"

Drake claps him on the shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere for the time being," he says. "I kind of made sure of that."

Connor can only nod as Drake walks out of the living room, leaving Connor alone with his thoughts.

-0-

"I want to talk to Katz," Connor says when Nuge slides into the booth across from him the night after their first talk. "About Chiarelli, and about respecting players. And I want to make sure it's about more than just me, if you're still in."

"I'm still in," Nuge says. "That was kind of quick. I'm not gonna lie, Davo, I figured it would take you a little more time to come to a decision."

"I'm done waiting," Connor says, shrugging. "And it's not like I made the decision on my own, or without thinking about it."

"Okay," Nuge says. "Then we'll talk to him. We should have a strategy meeting, figure out who should be there and what we want everyone to say."

"I was thinking you and I would go," Connor says. "And we can draft a letter, and whoever wants to sign it can sign it. That way we're not overwhelming Katz by bringing a whole team to talk to him, but we still get everyone's support there in front of him."

Nuge blinks. "That's a great idea," he says. "Some guys might want to write their own things, too."

"That's fine," Connor says, nodding. "And it was Drake's idea, when I told him that I wanted to keep the number of people actually going small."

It draws a smile out of Nuge. "He's a smart guy."

"Gonna be mayor someday," Connor says, smiling back.

"He's got my vote," Nuge says. "I'll talk to the guys I talked to before, and we'll see what we can get going. You work on getting a meeting set up, and we'll handle the rest, okay?"

"Okay," Connor says, taking a deep breath. "Okay."

-0-

"So you're leading a mutiny," Drake says. He sounds a lot more relaxed about it than Connor's feeling, but that's probably by design. "That's a cool way to start a new year."

Connor laughs, and some of the tension drains from his shoulders. "And you're going back to school," he says, tapping the brochure from the University of Alberta that's sitting on his coffee table. "Gonna get a sustainability degree and work with Ference?"

"I'm just going to take a few classes without declaring anything yet," Drake says, shrugging. "See what I'm really interested in."

"Smart," Connor says.

Drake smiles. "I'm balancing out that whole gut reaction quitting hockey thing," he says, voice teasing. "I used up all of my dumb move quota for this year before it even started. I don't want to screw this up before I get a chance, I guess."

Connor takes a deep breath. "Yeah, about that," he says, and if he thought he was nervous about setting up a meeting with Katz to figure out how to affect change that might, Nuge had pointed out, reverberate around the whole league, well, it's nothing compared to what he's feeling now.

"What about it?" Drake asks. He sounds a little cautious.

"You made this whole big gesture, like you said," Connor says. "And I didn't... it's not like I never thought about it, but never seriously. And then you went and did that, and..."

"You don't owe me any specific kind of answer," Drake says when Connor doesn't go on, and now, here, this is Drake giving him a brave face over the nerves that Connor's feeling too. "You don't have to answer me at all, Connor. It was what I felt like I needed to do, but that doesn't mean—"

Connor leans in and kisses him, a soft, simple press of his lips against Drake's.

"Or that," Drake says softly when Connor pulls back. He's smiling, his whole face crinkled up with it, and Connor smiles back almost helplessly. "I guess you're choosing to rock the boat all over the place, huh?"

"I guess I am," Connor says, and he and Drake are both grinning too hard for their second kiss to be good, but Connor thinks he's going to go for it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> WELP that happened
> 
> follow me on twitter to see me yell about hockey and writing. (let me know who you are, please, as i don't let people follow without knowing where they're coming from.)


End file.
